Hairy Adjustments

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I've always thought that my hair was my best physical quality. When I was younger people always commented on it's deep almost black color and envied the thickness of it. Just like both of my dark haired parents, it began to show white snippets at a young age, even when I was in      high school.

 I remember the boys in the back row of the church choir would find them and pull them out for me. That practice ended quickly as I feared I would tempt fate in regard to the thickness quality.

For years, hairdressers requested the privilege or rescuing the signs of aging and wanted to dye my locks a variety of colors. I denied those ardent requests. Every time. The only exception to my natural color way of life was a few years back, when while working with a youth group I went bright pink. It was pretty fun. The best part of it was when my long-suffering husband came home from work -- he didn't say a work, didn't do a double take, didn't miss a beat. Just like everything else in our lives together, he just took it in stride.

Now in my middle fifties I have more white than dark brown. Sometimes it surprises me, but I've never thought of trying to cover it up.  I think its beautiful and I attempt to tell every other white haired woman I see, just how gloriously glamorous she is.  I'm often asked about my "highlights." It delights me to tell them that these whites are all natural and I've earned everyone of them.

But I do get so tired of taking care of hair. It's mind boggling all the products that we purchase or have available to us to get rid of hair, increase hair, color hair, volumize hair, curl, straighten and color hair. So it was in that mood that I went to my sweet hairdresser this week.

"Shave it!" I said. A little at a time she took it off.  "More!" I demanded.  "Just leave me some bangs and buzz the rest!" I said, declaring my independence from hair slavery. She did. What an exciting new adventure.

But as I was driving home, I realized that I'd just had my best feature shaved away.  It was now a fluffy mess in a waste basket in downtown Bad Axe.  When I got home, I ran to the mirror.  Oh my.  My head is kind of a pleasant shape, I thought.  My husband and I went out to eat.  I found myself very self-conscious.  I asked Dave, "Am I ugly now?"  Bless his heart, he assured me that I wasn't.

It's taken me a couple of days to get used to my new hairdo and to find my confidence again. I don't have to be beautiful, but I do have to feel good about myself.  I looked into the mirror as I put on a great big pair of earrings -- my favorite kind.  I smiled at my image.  Hey -- that really worked.  I smiled again.  I don't look as bad as I thought.  Now, my smile is my best feature. And I'm okay with that.